


I Am One of You Forever

by Gruoch



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, Father-Son Emotional Disaster Duo, Future Fic, Gen, Gritty Domestic Bliss, High School Graduation, Hospitalization, Illnesses, Impending fatherhood, Peak Irondad, Post-A4 happy ending everyone deserves, Retirement, Serious Injuries, family building, pregnancy announcements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 02:06:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18326492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gruoch/pseuds/Gruoch
Summary: Two things happen nearly simultaneously in the aftermath of saving the universe:Tony learns that he is going to be a father, and the kid almost dies.Again.





	I Am One of You Forever

Two things happen nearly simultaneously in the aftermath of saving the universe:

Tony learns that he is going to be a father, and the kid almost dies. 

Again.

It’s becoming something of a troubling habit, one that wears very thinly on Tony’s nerves.

But first—there are the memorials, and then the meetings with various high-ranking public officials and shadowy government organizations followed by reams of paperwork, because the old idiom about death and taxes (and endless paperwork) holds true even in the wake of cataclysmic destruction and violent rebirth.

This all results in Tony and Pepper having to put their honeymoon on hold for months, until Tony thinks he’d rather chop off his own hand than write his signature on another heavily redacted document one more time. 

He decides instead to make one final dramatic exit. He has bent the fabric of time and space and made sacrifices that he will revisit in his dreams until his dying day in order to drag back half the universe from its unmaking, so he feels at last that he has earned the right to enjoy some small sliver of peace in this new world. And he has no intention of making it merely an epilogue or an endnote—this will be the start of a whole new book.

So he holds a hastily arranged press conference on the airport tarmac late one Friday afternoon, where he abruptly announces his retirement with a speech that clocks in at just under two minutes. Then he ignores the questions being shouted after him as he climbs aboard his private jet and joins Pepper inside, flashing a peace sign out the window as security clears the reporters from the runway so that the two of them can, at long last, ride off into the sunset together.

He and Pepper spend the next several weeks enjoying various sun-soaked private beaches and each other’s company, and Tony thinks the honeymoon might be all the better for having had to wait so long and fight so hard for it. 

They return home with starry eyes and relaxed smiles and deep tans, and another unexpected souvenir.

Tony comes shuffling out of their bedroom late one morning about a week after their return, still basking in the post-honeymoon lazy bliss. Pepper is already sitting at the kitchen table, peeling a clementine and reading the news on her tablet.

“Morning, honey,” Tony mumbles, giving her a peck on the cheek on his way over to the coffee maker. 

“I’m late,” Pepper says.

“For what?” Tony asks as he gets a mug out of the cabinet. “It’s Sunday. You said you weren’t going back to work till Tuesday.”

“No. I’m _late,_ ” Pepper repeats. “More than two weeks late.”

Tony misses the mug and pours hot coffee from the carafe all over the countertop. He spins around to stare at Pepper, sloshing more coffee over his hand but not even feeling the burn.

“You mean—you’re saying you might be—”

“We can’t be sure until I take a test,” Pepper cautions, even as she starts to smile, “but I’ve never, ever been this late before.”

Tony has to sit down right there on the kitchen floor in a puddle of coffee, too overwhelmed to even make it to one of chairs at the table. 

Pepper comes over and takes the coffee carafe from his limp grasp before settling down in his lap and putting her arms around his neck, laughing against his mouth as she kisses him.

Tony holds her close and for a long time he can’t speak. He can only smooth her hair back from her face over and over again, looking at her through the veil of tears covering his eyes— this woman that he loves and has loved and will love, his wife and now—maybe, possibly, _please_ —the mother of their child.

“Well, damn,” he says at last. “That was some honeymoon.”

*****************

A day later, they lie in bed together and listen as FRIDAY plays the recording Tony took at the obstetrician’s office that morning of the baby's heartbeat. The strong, steady rhythm of it, hummingbird fast, fills the bedroom. Tony rests his hand on Pepper’s flat stomach, still a little stunned by it all, by the idea of his most ardent desire being made real.

“Is it too early to think about names?” Pepper murmurs. “Is that bad luck?”

“We already have a name.”

“We do?”

“Yeah. Morgan,” Tony says. “Works for a boy or a girl.”

Pepper looks at him from under arched eyebrows. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am absolutely, one-hundred-percent serious,” Tony says firmly. “I won’t even entertain any other choices.”

“Alright, honey,” Pepper says patiently. “Nine months is a long time, though. It’s okay to change your mind.”

“I won’t. It’s meant to be.”

He doesn’t quite know how to explain it to her, the way a dream from a lifetime ago sustained him through the darkest time of his life. Even now, listening to the heartbeat, it still feels like he’s dreaming.

And, as so often happens with his dreams, this one morphs suddenly into a nightmare.

_“Boss?”_ FRIDAY cuts into the recording, sounding apologetic. _“I received an alert that Mr. Parker has sustained serious injuries. He’s currently being transported to the ER by ambulance.”_

Tony is out of the bed in a second, bashing his knee into the corner of the bed frame as he scrambles to pull on a pair of pants. He starts down the hall toward the elevator at a limping jog. “Which one?”

_“NYU Medical.”_

Pepper chases him down as he gets into the elevator and shoves a folder into his hands before the doors close. “You’ll need that to get in to see him.”

Tony rides the elevator all the way down to the garage before realizing he forgot to put shoes on. He reverses course, swearing under his breath and trying to calm the frantic pace of his heart as the elevator heads back up. 

Pepper is waiting for him when the elevator doors open, a pair of shoes in her hand. Tony wonders for the millionth time what he did to deserve an angel like her. 

“I’ve contacted the medical team upstate and Happy is on his way over,” she says as she gives him the shoes. “We’ll get May from work and meet you up there.” 

She kisses him, holding his face in her hands for a brief moment.

“Everything will be fine,” she tells him firmly.

Tony can only nod and hope that she's right.

He lets FRIDAY drive the car because his hands are shaking too badly to properly hold the steering wheel, telling the A.I. to hack traffic lights and break whatever laws she has to short of mowing down pedestrians in crosswalks in order to get him to the hospital in the shortest time possible. The rest of it passes in a sort of bleary haze. He can only vaguely recall pushing his way past the mob of reporters lurking vulture-like outside of the emergency room’s doors, and handing off the folder with the signed and notarized power-of-attorney form to the intake nurse, who sends him down a long stretch of hallway.

The world doesn’t come back into focus until he’s standing next to the gurney the kid is laid out on. There’s a flurry of activity around them, doctors and nurses cutting off the suit and sticking IV lines in here and there and dropping blood-soaked gauze into little kidney dishes. 

Tony stands next to the kid’s head and tries to block all of that out.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, looking remarkably calm in the midst of the chaos.

“Hey, kid,” Tony says, laying a hand on Peter’s forehead. “What was it this time? Aliens? Runaway train? Giant sewer gators?”

“Mm, it was like—this crazy militarized robot drone thing ripping up the subway near Grand Central. I’m pretty sure it was made from vibranium or—or maybe adamantium...I dunno. It’s totally an unfair advantage either way. I'm not the Hulk.”

“Totally unfair.”

“I got it, though,” Peter murmurs, blinking slowly. “And no one died. So.”

“So job well done,” Tony assures him. “Messy, but done. That’s your signature style, Pete.”

“Ha. Yeah.” The kid sucks in a painful sounding breath. “I think I’m gonna miss my graduation. May’s gonna be so pissed.”

“Yeah, she is.”

Peter wets his lips with his tongue. “I’m sorry about the suit.”

“Don’t sweat it. We’ll make another after they patch you up. It’ll be good practice for you,” Tony replies. 

“I’m sorry,” the kid says again. 

Tony rubs his thumb along Peter’s hairline. “It’s okay. I appreciate that you at least waited till I got back from my honeymoon before nearly getting yourself killed again.”

Peter gives a lopsided smile at that. There’s blood on his teeth. Then his expression goes serious. “Mr. Stark—this whole thing will probably be on the news, but don’t watch it, okay? It’ll just stress you out for nothing. Don’t watch anything Karen recorded, either. It's bad for your heart.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“ _Promise_ you won’t watch it.”

“I promise I won’t watch it,” Tony says, already knowing there’s a very good chance he’ll break that promise. It’s like a self-destructive compulsion—like a dog mindlessly gnawing at its own wound. He won’t be able to resist.

Someone touches his shoulder. “Sir? We have to leave now,” a nurse tells Tony. He nods at her, and then turns back to Peter.

“Listen, they won’t let me ride in the helicopter with you this time. There’s no room. But you know the drill—me and May and Happy will all meet you upstate. Okay?”

“Okay,” Peter says.

“Everything will be fine,” Tony says, echoing Pepper. He wishes he could sound half as confident as she had.

He stays to watch them wheel the kid out, and then he hurries back to the car to make the drive upstate. He stretches out in the backseat and lets FRIDAY take the wheel again, pressing a hand against his eyelids until he sees sparks of light and color swirling in the darkness.

“Hey, FRI—shoot a message to HQ and let them know the kid is inbound,” he says. “And let Pepper know I’m on my way, too.”

_“Sure, boss. Anything else?”_

Tony looks at his phone. He’s already feeling an itch to have the A.I. pull Karen’s footage, to bear witness to every brutal detail as an act of mental self-flagellation, like that will somehow assuage the guilt he feels every time this sort of thing happens. 

He has FRIDAY play the recording of the baby’s heartbeat on a loop instead, and gradually that itch starts to fade.

*******************

Hours later, he’s sitting in a little conference room with some of Peter’s surgical team, still dressed in their bloody scrubs. He listens as they go through the litany of injuries—the crushed ribs and punctured lung and GI perforations, et cetera, et cetera—examining the various scans and x-rays they hand over. 

His personal favorite is an x-ray of the kid’s right femur, which looks like it has exploded into about a hundred different little pieces. He holds it up to the light and gives a low whistle.

“Now _that_ is very impressive,” he says. “Can I keep this? I’m gonna frame it and hang it in my bedroom.”

The doctors, who are used to Tony’s eccentricities by this point, resignedly acquiesce.

He shakes their hands and thanks them for once again putting the kid back together, then he tucks the x-ray under his arm and heads down to the kid’s recovery room.

May is sitting next to the bed where Peter lies resting under heavy sedation. She raises her head when Tony comes in, looking up at him with an expression of exhausted acceptance that has become so very familiar to him.

“We really gotta stop running into each other like this,” she says, giving him a tired smile.

“No kidding,” Tony agrees, coming to stand next to the bed and gripping its plastic railing. “Although he had a pretty good streak going there where he wasn’t getting too banged up. I guess this blows that out of the water.”

“I guess so. I hope this hasn’t completely undone all the rest and relaxation you got on your honeymoon,” May says as she gently smooths back Peter’s hair.

Tony watches her, sees the love and tenderness imparted in her touch, and he’s suddenly overcome with some weird combination of want and affection and gut-churning fear.

“Pepper’s pregnant,” he blurts out. “We’re having a baby.”

“Oh!” May says, her hands coming up to her mouth and joy overcoming the exhaustion on her face like the sun parting storm clouds. She stands up and holds her arms out to him, her eyes wet behind her glasses as she seizes him into her tight embrace.

“Oh,” she says again, swaying him back and forth. “Oh, Tony! That’s wonderful! Oh my god! I’m so happy for you—you must be so happy!”

Tony looks over the top of her head at the kid lying small and limp and pale on the bed, and at all the tubes and beeping machines and IV bags full of mysterious clear fluids.

“I’m terrified,” he admits.

“I know. Trust me—I know. You’ll spend the rest of your life feeling that way,” May says with a wide smile, stroking the stubble on his cheeks. “But you’re gonna survive this, too. I promise.”

*********************

A few nights later, Tony returns to the Midtown penthouse he shares with Pepper and lies in bed beside her once more. He rests his hand on her belly again, imagining the tiny hidden heartbeat under his palm, the cells that are rapidly dividing and multiplying, bundle by bundle growing into something of incredible complexity. He wonders how something that brings such immeasurable joy can also be so shattering. It’s the complete lack of control, he supposes. You work so hard to nurture and protect the ones you love, and then you send them out into an unpredictable world full of reckless drivers and measles outbreaks and militarized drones blowing apart subway tunnels. So much of life is just a matter of hope and happenstance and occasionally sheer dumb luck.

He thinks of this little family he’s made and the life they’re building together, and how precious and perfect all of it is, and that even this terrible fear he feels is beautiful because it’s just another form of love, really.

“I might have told May about the baby,” he confesses.

“Oh, I think that’s alright,” Pepper murmurs sleepily. “Did she give you any advice?”

“May doesn’t give advice. May confirms all of your worst fears and then tells you to quit whining and suck it up.”

“Well, sometimes you need to hear that, too.”

“Yeah,” Tony sighs. Then he adds, “I may have told Happy and Rhodey, too. And Rhodey’s mom. And Nat. And Bruce. I just can’t help myself. You know I struggle with impulse control.”

“I know,” Pepper says, sounding amused. 

“I’m gonna tell Peter, too, once he’s on the mend a little and not completely drugged out of his mind. I mean, if that’s alright with you,” Tony says. “He’s good at keeping secrets.”

“Of course. Really, if anyone should know it’s him. He was the test pilot, after all. Or maybe crash test dummy is more accurate.”

“Hm. Very funny.”

They lie in silence for a time, listening to each other breathe, dreaming of the future that awaits them together.

“I’m scared I’m gonna fuck this up,” Tony says eventually, the words soft in the darkness.

Pepper lays a hand on top of his. “I think the fact that that worries you so much is a sign that you’re going to do just fine.”

Tony takes a deep breath. He pictures cells multiplying and dividing, a tiny miracle rapidly unfolding under his hand. He wants to believe her, more desperately than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. He dares to think she could be right about this, too.

*********************

There are bumps in the road, little fractures in his already shaky faith.

Tony hires a top dietician to make sure Pepper and the baby are getting all the vital nutrients and calories they need, only for the morning sickness to kick in full-throttle. Pepper rejects the carefully cultivated meals in favor of saltines and watermelon. Her admirably patient obstetrician repeatedly assures Tony that the nausea is completely normal and will pass, and that both mother and baby are fine. The OB writes Pepper a prescription for medication to help with the nausea, and writes Tony a referral to a psychiatrist. He can’t tell if it’s genuinely well-meaning or snarky, but he tears it up and tosses it either way.

And then there’s Peter, who never half-asses anything—including nearly dying. Tony probably shouldn’t be surprised when he gets a call from a nurse at the compound informing him that the kid’s developed a massive post-surgery infection, because _of course_. And he isn’t surprised, not really, but he is very dismayed by it, especially when the doctors call him in to tell him scary medical things while May holds his hand and cries. It dredges up a lot of painful old trauma Tony carries regarding the kid and death and dying. He calls Pepper’s OB on her personal number very late on a particularly bad night and has her write another referral for him. The woman may in fact be a saint.

He wonders if this is what fatherhood is—ping-ponging between joy so intense it aches and the complete agony of uncertainty and helplessness. He’s not even really a father yet, technically speaking, but he already feels beat to hell by the back and forth.

But both Pepper and Peter eventually round the bend with or without his interference. Pepper’s nausea settles into something more manageable. She branches out into breads and greens and peanut butter eaten by the spoonful from the jar, usually around midnight. And the kid’s doctors find the right cocktail of heavy-duty antibiotics and fever reducers to bring him a little more firmly into the land of the living.

Tony goes to visit him, carrying the framed femur x-ray under his arm. Pepper does not share his appreciation for modern art masterpieces and has adamantly refused to hang it up anywhere in their home, calling it _morbid_ and _disturbing_. But Tony knows Peter will understand its beauty.

“Hey kid, how are you feeling?” Tony asks as he comes into Peter’s room and settles down in the chair beside the bed. The kid looks...terrible, really. Peter is pale and his eyes have that red-rimmed, watery look of someone with a high fever. But he’s awake and lucid and even sitting up a little in bed, which is a vast improvement when Tony considers the state the kid has been in for much of the past two weeks.

“Honestly—pretty shitty,” Peter replies weakly. “My whole body hurts, and last night I puked so hard some of it came out through my nose.”

“Charming. I talked to your doctors—they’re gonna put you on another antibiotic to try and get this infection under control. I’ll talk to them again before I go and see if we can maybe manage your pain a little better, too, alright?”

Peter offers a wan smile. “Yeah. Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Sure, kid. Here—I brought you part one of your get-well-soon-slash-graduation presents,” Tony says, holding up the framed x-ray. “Check that out. That’s a gorgeous portrait of you, bud.”

“Oh man, that is so _gruesome,_ ” the kid says, sounding utterly delighted. “Is that seriously what my leg looks like? Whoa, amazing. No wonder it hurts so bad. I’m gonna hang this in my dorm room this fall. Thanks, Mr. Stark, I love it.”

“I knew you would. But hey, look at that,” Tony says, perking up as he notices the diploma and mortarboard cap sitting on the little side table next to the bed. He reaches for the diploma and opens it up, smiling as he looks it over. “You’re officially a high school graduate—and, shit, valedictorian to boot. Congrats, Pete.”

“Thanks. Ned and MJ brought it by earlier today. Apparently there’s a rumor going around school that I was in the subway when that robot attacked and Spider-Man personally saved me. It was all anyone could talk about at the graduation ceremony. Figures that I’d finally be popular right as we all graduate and leave,” Peter says, grinning a little ruefully.

Tony snorts. “How much you wanna bet your buddy Ned started that rumor?”

“Oh, he definitely did.”

Tony sets the diploma down and picks up the mortarboard cap, smoothing down the tassel. “I hope you’re not too disappointed that you didn’t get to walk.”

Peter shrugs. “It’s okay. The Spider-Man thing is obviously way more important. And anyways, I’ve been kinda really over school since Christmas, so. It’s fine.”

“Here—let me at least see how it would have looked,” Tony says, leaning forward and putting the cap on Peter’s head. 

“Well, what do you think?” Peter asks, looking up at the underside of the mortarboard. “I think it’s sorta ridiculous.”

Tony can’t say anything. He’d been half-kidding around when he set it on the kid’s head, but now he finds himself unexpectedly blinking back tears as he looks at Peter, his chest tight and a lump lodged firmly in his throat.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter says tentatively, his expression worried as he reaches up to pull the cap off.

Tony can only shake his head, still unable to make any words. He gets up out of the chair and stands over the bed. The kid still looks too fragile to fully embrace, so Tony settles for holding Peter’s head in his hands. He leans down and presses their faces together, and he’s so full of pride that he doesn’t even have room to take a breath.

He finally pulls himself together and straightens up. The kid looks up at him, his eyes shining in a way that has nothing to do with his fever.

“Okay,” Tony says thickly, giving Peter’s head a gentle little shake. “Okay. Fuck. Look at the two of us. What a fucking mess. Just—stop growing up so fast, for god’s sake.”

The kid laughs a little, wiping at his eyes. “I mean, it’s not like I can help it.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tony lets Peter go and clears his throat. “Alright. I gotta go to an appointment. So. You should sleep,” he says, pressing the back of his hand against Peter’s cheek. “You feel like a furnace. Get some rest so you can kick this thing, okay? I want to throw you a graduation party when you’re out of here. You can invite everyone—your whole class. If they think you’re cool now for getting wrecked by a robot, just wait till Tony Stark throws you a party. Make sure that little prick who always picked on you comes so you can rub it in his face. What’s his name? Quickie.”

Peter smiles. “Flash.”

“Right. I knew it something stupid.” Tony pats the kid’s head. “Okay. May will be by later, and I’ll be back in a few days. Drink a lot of water, take your medicine, blah blah blah. I’ll see you around.”

“Bye, Mr. Stark.”

***********************

A few hours later, Tony is at a different medical facility, sitting in a dimly lit exam room next to the table Pepper reclines on, waiting for the ultrasound technician to finish prepping everything. 

“Okay, here we go,” the tech chirps. “Ready for your first sneak peek?”

Tony tucks his hand into Pepper’s. His fingers are shaking a little, and he feels Pepper give them a comforting squeeze. He squints at the screen set up beside the table as the display comes to life, trying to make sense of the amorphous grey shapes and empty black spaces being shown. 

“These are the walls of the uterus, and that’s the placenta there looking very nice and healthy. And here’s baby dancing right here,” the technician says cheerfully, pointing to a little wriggling grey blob on the screen.

It looks, Tony thinks, a little like a gummy bear that got left out in direct sunlight for a bit too long. There is a vague suggestion of stumpy limbs and a swollen, featureless head, arranged around a tiny fluttering heartbeat that pulses vibrantly in its grainy, greyscale surroundings. 

It’s the most awe-inspiring, perfect thing Tony has ever seen, the best and most beautiful of all his creations.

He finds himself blinking back tears for the second time that day. He presses Pepper’s hand against his lips and takes shuddering breaths against her fingers as he watches the bright beating heart of the little life they have made together.

****************** 

Tony makes the drive back upstate later that week, as he promised.

There’s a little extra spring in his step as he strolls down the halls of the medical facility, tapping his tablet against his thigh—the result of a combination of exhilaration and nervous anticipation and a general sense of wonder at the miracle of existence. His mood is further improved after he has a chat with the doctors and they report that the kid is making good, steady progress on his way to a full recovery.

There’s just one last thing Tony needs to do to really feel like his little world is coming fully back together, perfect and complete in its own chaotic way.

There’s a nurse in Peter’s room when Tony comes in. She fiddles with one of the IV bags while Peter watches her with a dour expression on his face. She offers them both a cheerful goodbye on her way out, which Tony returns but the kid answers with a silent scowl.

“Why are you being so surly?” Tony asks.

“I’m being surly because that nurse just put _something_ in my _butt,_ ” Peter says sulkily. 

“It was medicine to reduce your fever—you know, so you don’t get brain damage or die horribly from organ failure,” Tony says, dragging a chair over to the bed and settling into it. “You’re still puking up all the medicine they’ve tried to give you orally. They gotta get that stuff in you one way or the other.”

“Okay, but they couldn’t give me a shot or something?”

“Listen, I’m not a doctor. I can’t answer that. I think you’re being a little dramatic here.”

“I’m not. I don’t like strangers touching my butt. It was embarrassing.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “To _you,_ maybe. She’s a nurse—she’s not bothered by your butt. Your butt isn’t special. Nurses deal with butts everyday. That’s why I pay the ones I employ here so well. They don’t deserve to have some scrawny teenager give them dirty looks for doing their job—they deserve respect. Don’t you agree? Your beloved aunt is a nurse, after all.”

“Okay, yes—but I still think it was really unnecessary,” Peter says sourly. “Butt medicine is for old people and babies.”

“This is going to shock your sweet young ears, but I can tell you that there is a significant number of young, healthy adults who would love to have a nurse stick something in their butt.”

“Oh my _god._ Stop," Peter begs, mortified. "I don’t want to hear you talk about stuff like that.”

“Especially if that nurse were to look something like your aunt. I certainly wouldn’t complain—”

Peter smashes his hands against his ears. “Stop. _Please._ I’ve suffered enough.”

“Alright, alright, relax. I didn’t come here to talk about butt stuff, anyway. I came to tell you something extremely important and confidential,” Tony says, waking his tablet and opening the ultrasound video.

Peter immediately looks wary. “What, like SHIELD stuff?”

“No. This is vastly more important and more confidential,” Tony replies, handing Peter the tablet. He finds himself holding his breath.

The kid looks at the screen. He looks back up at Tony, his eyes huge.

“Is this...are you guys...?”

“Yeah,” Tony says a little breathlessly.

For a long moment they just look at each other, the same wonderstruck expression mirrored on each other’s faces, before Peter turns his attention back to the video once more. 

“Look, you can see the little heart beating,” Peter says in a hushed voice. Then his lower lip starts to quiver. He sets the tablet in his lap and presses his hands against his face, his shoulders trembling.

“Oh, hey,” Tony says. He shifts over to sit on the bed, grasping Peter’s arms and pulling the kid against his chest. “These are happy tears, right?”

He feels Peter nod against the damp front of his shirt. The kid’s arms slip up behind Tony’s back, holding him tight while little silent sobs continue to shake him.

“But I’m also really mad at you,” Peter says eventually, his voice thick and muffled against Tony’s shoulder.

“You’re mad at me?”

“Yes. This should of been like, this really special, beautiful moment, and you completely ruined it.”

“I _ruined_ it. How?”

“Because you told me right after that nurse stuck stuff in my butt, and now I’m always gonna associate this moment with that feeling,” the kid says, sitting back and wiping at his face. “You should have waited to tell me. Jeez.”

Tony snorts out a laugh. “Sorry, but I’ve been sitting on this for weeks now, and once I had that video I couldn’t wait any longer. And anyway, this is really _your_ fault. I was originally planning on taking you out to a nice dinner and telling you then, but you had to go and nearly get yourself killed. _Again._ ”

“Yeah, okay, blame the victim,” Peter says, sniffling. “Are you gonna start wearing corny Hawaiian shirts now?”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Hawaiian shirts? What—is that a dad thing? I really don’t know. I haven’t exactly spent a lot of time around dads.”

“I wouldn’t really know either. I’m an orphan,” Peter says with a completely deadpan expression.

“You’re a dumb little shit, is what you are,” Tony says, smiling.

Peter’s own face cracks into a slow smile before becoming thoughtful. “But seriously—I think you’re gonna be a really good dad, Mr. Stark.”

Tony feels his chest go tight again. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“Well. That means a lot to me coming from you,” Tony says with a little difficulty. “I think I needed to hear that from you more than from anyone else. I just...I hope you know how much that really means to me, Pete.”

“It’s okay. I know,” Peter says, and once again Tony finds himself unable to speak. But the silence between them is full of a kind of tenderness that words could only imperfectly express, anyway.

“Are you going to cry again like you did the last time you were here?” the kid asks finally.

“Fuck you,” Tony replies affectionately, sniffing hard. “It’s the pregnancy hormones. I’m a goddamn wreck these days.”

“Yeah, okay. That’s what it is,” Peter says, with a knowing grin.

*******************

Tony steps back out onto the penthouse’s rooftop terrace, humming to himself and tossing a water bottle back and forth between his hands. He’s wearing a vintage Hawaiian-print shirt with his swim trunks, one that the kid has confirmed to be, in his words, _peak dorky dad_. Tony likes to think he still has enough swagger to make it look cool, but maybe that’s the trap all dads fall into.

He strolls over to where Pepper lies stretched out in one of the lounge chairs beside the pool. Impending motherhood must not have the same brutal dorkifying effects that fatherhood does, because she looks radiant in a polka-dot print bikini that shows off the small round swell of her growing belly.

Peter sits on a towel on the ground next to her, his hair wet from swimming, looking young and healthy and whole in the bright afternoon sunshine, like he hadn’t been slumped right up against death’s door just a couple short months ago. Tony always feels a mixture of relief and jealousy whenever he observes the kid’s incredible healing ability, experiencing his own chronic aches and pains and scars a little more acutely in comparison.

“Hi, baby, I love you, baby,” Peter croons in a sing-song voice to Pepper’s belly. “It’s nice and sunny out here today. Wish you could see it. I love you.”

“What are you doing?” Tony asks in amusement as he hands Pepper the water. 

“I’m talking to Morgan. I read that the baby can hear people’s voices from the outside now,” Peter explains. “There are these studies that show that language development starts in utero, so it’s beneficial to talk to her. I mean, she’s probably gonna be like the smartest baby ever anyway, but it can’t hurt to help her out a little, right?”

“Sure, that’s a great idea,” Tony says.

He kneels down next to Peter, ignoring the way his knees protest and the bemused smile on Pepper’s face. He lays his hand against the warm swell of Pepper’s belly, leaning his face in close.

“Hey, baby. It’s papa. I love you,” he says, pressing a kiss to Pepper’s belly. He reaches out with his other hand and curls it around the back of Peter’s neck, squeezing gently. “I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](https://groo-ock.tumblr.com/). Swing by and cry about Endgame with me.
> 
> Title shamelessly stolen from the Fred Chappel novel of the same name, which I read a million years ago in AP English and only vaguely remember, and which has little if anything at all to do with this story, but the title felt appropriate. Credit where credit is due.


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